Dust
by fromthehillbythelake
Summary: A girl who didn't know whether or not to believe in love, and a boy who never thought it mattered. Jatie ONESHOT. Lemons.


**Okay, so this is my first M Jatie fic! I'm very nervous, but I really hope you enjoy this :)**  
**This story is very personal to me, so I'm quite in love with it. I hope you like it as much as I do.**

**(p.s. I hope the "To Chase the Horizon" fic gets updated, NUDGENUDGE! ;) Fellow Jatie lovers, if you're looking for an angst!filled time, that fic is killing me, UGHDSHJKSJK. Also, I'm really loving "Stay" good lord!)**

**Anyways, here we are.**  
**I don't own a thing.**

* * *

_Now_

___..._

She's in a yellow tank top and navy blue shorts, bouncing around the kitchen and humming and finishing up the sandwiches.

It's an odd sight: Katie Matlin, frigid bitch, doing something...homely.

Her hair is pinned up in a loose bun, flopping as she bobs her head to the music playing from the radio. Her lips are pursed - half in concentration, half in mischief. She continues to spread the peanut butter on the bread, licking back and forth between her fingers and the knife. Once she's sure it's perfect - spread evenly and within the confines of the crust - she reaches for a banana on top of the fridge, her hips swaying to the beat.

Jake catches a peek of her lower back as she stretches, and he smiles. She hasn't noticed him, still cutting up the banana and attempting to sing along to the song lyrics.

There's something about seeing her like this. Seeing the parts of her that no one else gets to see. Her, just making sandwiches. All soft and vulnerable.

"Hey."

She jumps, placing a hand over her heart.

"You scared me!" she squeals, and snorts with laughter. He's never seen anything so radiant. "I'm thinking of entering a dance competition," she shouts cheerfully, continuing to sway her hips. "Think I'll win?"

"No," his smile is controlled. He knows she's only joking.

"Fucking rude!" she giggles, shaking her ass as the tempo increases. She starts yelling the song lyrics, grabbing her tits with both hands and pushing them out towards him.

It's mornings like these that make him wish he'd stayed quiet just a little bit longer - he probably could've caught her jumping on the table.

* * *

_Before_

___..._

They're kissing, intensely, and his ears are flaming hot. His blood is pumping, and it's all he hears. He wants to know if she can hear it too, and almost laughs because what a stupid thing that is to be wondering. She's shaky and aggressive, pulling at his shirt like he's going to change his mind, huffing in frustration when it gets caught over his shoulder.

He tries to look at her, make sure she's alright. Make sure she's okay with this.

But she keeps kissing him, and he now he can't remember what he was thinking (and it doesn't really matter because he's hard and she's beautiful and he's been dying to touch her).

He guides her toward the bed, their mouths still attached, and swipes his tongue along her bottom lip. She's breathing heavily, and he can barely concentrate as she reaches for his belt. As he turns his head to get a better angle, she stumbles backward, gasping into his mouth. He laughs lowly, moving his hands down her hips to hold her ass, but she twists awkwardly so her back is arching. He tries to lower her to the bed, but she's squirming, and in a desperate attempt to pull his lips down on hers, makes them bump foreheads. He's about to laugh again, but she grabs his face and slams their mouths together. He isn't complaining, it's just they're still standing upright, though she seems to be caught in an awkward falling limbo while grappling her arms around his neck.

She pulls away from him suddenly, looking immediately at the bed.

"I have to just-" she mutters, not looking at him. "Let me just fix-"

She stomps over to it and roughly rips off the covers to adjust the sheets underneath. Jake's mouth is slack with shock.

She tries to lift up the side of the mattress to wrap the sheet under it, but her fingers are shaking and it flops back down on the bed loudly.

"I almost got it-" she grunts, pulling up the mattress again. Jake comes up behind her to grab her waist.

"Katie, it's alright, it's no big deal-"

But the mattress flops down a second time. Her voice cracks now.

"Just let me-" and as he reaches for her hand, the mattress smacks back onto the bed a third time. Before Jake can take a breath, Katie starts bawling.

"Katie?" he says, bewildered, and she pushes him off to curl up on the bed and cry. Her sobs are low and breathy and raw, like she's unable to stop.

"Katie," he breathes, and lies on the bed behind her. He places a hand across her stomach, knowing he's risking his arm.

"Go away," she cries, and covers her face with her hands, her sobs continuing to wrack her body.

"What's wrong?" he asks softly, leaning closer to kiss the back of her neck.

Silence.

...

He waits.

And she cries and cries until she can't anymore.

"I'm so fucking stupid," she mumbles finally, and he stops tracing his fingers along her thigh.

"I can make the bed if you want," he grins, but she doesn't laugh.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, and before he can open his mouth, she blurts out in a tearful, hormone-driven craze: "I just wanted this to be perfect and I wanted the bed to be comfortable and I got nervous and this was supposed to be sexy and then the sheets didn't fit right and I tried to fix them and then nothing worked, it's all ruined, I ruined it, and then I started crying like some fucking loser, and I'm ugly, I'm so gross, that's why it wouldn't work, I'm disgusting-"

He crawls over her so that he can see her face, and she's so humiliated and ashamed that she doesn't dare look back. After a moment's hesitation, he puts arms around her, and pulls her tight against his body. He says that she's so beautiful it makes him want to die, and that he should've tried to make this more special for her, and that she has to sort out her body issues for herself, only herself. He falters several times before he tries to speak again.

He starts to cry when he tells her that he loves her.

She wishes, guiltily, that she'd found him later. Aren't they too young to be in love?

"_If you keep picking at it Katie, there's going to be nothing left." _He told her once.

But she doesn't know how to stop thinking.

His arms are so warm, and he smells like smoke and pumpkin pie and the ocean. She doesn't fall asleep until his breathing slows.

* * *

_Later_

___..._

They're lying on the bed, naked. She's hot and sweaty, and her hair is plastered to her forehead.

She lets out a few satisfied mewls, her limbs limp. Her legs are open, and she's staring at the ceiling, her mouth twisted contentedly.

He massages the skin between her thighs, rubbing his thumbs up and down her lips, and then her labia. He adjusts his speed and pressure and rhythm based on the sighs she makes; smiles when he gets a moan out of her. He puts his mouth on her clit, sucking her in the gentle way that he does whenever he bites into a ripe apple. She's wet, and he puts a hand over her public bone to steady her as he continues to lick.

She's panting, but he doesn't put any fingers inside her. Their sex isn't a goddamn performance. She used to think so, tried to give him a "fool-proof fuck," but he slowed her down, showed her the way. This sex felt good. This sex was comfortable. This sex was happy.

She starts giggling, because his wet lips make a funny sound, and he knows nothing will ever be as good as this.

It's not even about making her come, though she does (she does), it's about taking their time. They'll just fuck again later.

_Tomorrow_, she decides, and is shaken by the hunger of him, entirely.

* * *

_Earlier_

___..._

"You always know exactly how to get me off," she says as they're entwined beneath the covers. Her voice is envious, like it's some sort of competition. Like she wants to know how to do it too.

_Why can't she just enjoy herself?_

"I feel like...you know me better than I know you..."

"Does every fucking thing I do have to mean something?" he snaps.

For a girl who swears that a good relationship needs a couple of good fights, she gets very fucking defensive when he calls her on her bullshit.

"Fuck off," she growls, and rips all the covers off him as she turns away. He reaches over to snatch the covers back, but she starts kicking him. He grunts in pain, but is able to jump on top of her after a few more kicks to stop her from moving.

"Get off!" she pouts, and he can see he's already won.

"You're a right bitch when you're mad you know," he smirks down at her tauntingly.

"You think it's sexy," she grins, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Mm," he says lowly, planting a kiss on her forehead before rolling onto his back beside her.

She's right of course.

"_Mommy?" he squeaks, a boy of eight, peeking around the kitchen table. His mom wipes her eyes at the counter, her auburn hair cascading down her back._

"_What's wrong?" he asks brightly, waddling over to her. It's obvious that she's been crying, but she smiles down at her son._

"_Nothing, sweetheart," she soothes, adjusting her apron._

"_Mommy," he says, "it's okay. Dad's just sad because of the cancer. He didn't mean what he said. He'll be back soon. Everything's going to be okay."_

_His mom looks at him, heartbroken, like she knows the child is gone. _

_And before she can extend her arms, he goes to hug her, somehow knowing it's exactly what she needs._

"_I love you sweetie," she breathes, running a hand through his hair. "How about we make some pie?"_

Touch was a gift, he realized. He learned that giving a simple hug or kiss or caress could crack a person wide open. So many willing souls spilled their secrets - dreams, fears, desires - because they were lulled by his throaty voice, his capable hands. They craved the comfort that his touch allowed, and he wasn't even trying.

Katie is brazen though; doesn't need to be held. It caused him endless frustration. He feels her pain, knows it's lurking, but all she wants to do is talk - talk about _why_, talk about feelings, talk about the past.

"_The past doesn't matter," he states, "it's in the past."_

"_Your past defines you," she argues, "it's part of who you are."_

He tries to explain, wants her to know that he could help her if she let him, but he can't form the words. And so he holds her, let's her hit and push and punch and scratch because when she finally breaks (her façade breaking too), it's _his_ arms she finds solace in.

He swallows hard, because he knows she could survive without him, without anyone, yet she's here.

She fumbles for his hand in the dark, a rare gesture. He knows she's trying.

"I just-" she continues softly, "I wish..." she trails off, looking at his hand. She didn't think twice about grabbing it. And it terrifies her, because maybe she can't survive without him.

"I know you, Katie," he says, turning towards her in the moonlight. "I know what you need, and how to make you feel good. Isn't that enough?"

* * *

_-x-_

She's not used to him accompanying her. She always took the bus alone, had time to sort out her thoughts in the morning. Coffee in one hand, her iPhone in the other, listening to music to fill up her time. Sometimes she forgets that he's sitting beside her - so caught up in her own head, mapping out her plans for the day. She's not a morning person, he knows that, but he tries to engage in idle conversation. Normally she would be calmed by the familiar sounds of transit, but Jake's voice grates her thoughts on the mornings he decides to join her.

He hates these mornings the most. He asks her questions, knowing they'll make her angry, but she barely reacts. He likes her angry, can handle her angry, but when she just sits there...

He knows it isn't fair, but he thinks of grade 11, when she first asked him out to Movie Night at Degrassi. When she was timid, and rigid, bound by the need for control. He didn't love her then, but wonders how he could have missed the heat boiling beneath her skin. That fire, that blazing, shining light, was hiding. Hiding then as it is now, on this stupid, fucking bus.

They get to her stop and she stands, not waiting for him to follow her. He stretches before he makes his way off the bus, not even sure that she knows he's fallen behind. He can't see her face in the crowd ahead, and thinks about skipping off to get some food. He won't though, knows he'll follow her even if she won't ask.

"Jake-" he hears suddenly, and sees her face: cheeks pink, rosy lips parted - panic-stricken, lost, and utterly lonely - though just for a second. He walks faster, desperate to kiss her.

"I thought I'd lost you," she smiles, reaching out to grab his hand and locking her fingers between his. "Sorry, I just got distracted. Come on, we're going to be late!" and she pulls him forward, a bounce in her step.

She just needs time, he realizes. Time in the morning, and time to open her heart. Because once she's awake, you're everything to her.

* * *

_-x-_

He's furious. His dad took Helen out on the Anniversary of his mom's death, and he wants to tear him a new one. He doesn't have a right to be upset (it's been nine years), but he is and his damn father still should be (though he'll never tell him), and he snapped at Helen when she asked him how his day was, and he roared at Clare when she asked him what was wrong and he just wants to be left the fuck alone.

Katie calls and the last thing he wants to do is talk, but she's chipper (unusual) and doesn't say much. Just tells him that she loves him and is thinking about him, and then hangs up.

He's lying down when the doorbell rings, and he yells at Clare to get it, but remembers she's with Eli, so with a groan he rolls out of bed to get the door.

"Coming!" he growls, as the doorbell continues to ring.

It's Katie, giggling and humming at the door, and he wishes he didn't come downstairs. He's tired, so tired, and she'll know something's wrong, and he doesn't want to fucking talk about it.

"You seemed upset," she smiles as he lets her in. "Sooo, I decided to drive over with your favourite!" She plants a kiss on his cheek, and shows him the bag, filled with movies and an assortment of candy and chocolate.

His smile is forced as she continues talking, taking out bowls from his cupboards for the food. He appreciates her coming over, but just wants to sleep and wishes she would leave. She's bent over now, rummaging through his kitchen drawers, and it just makes him want to fuck her. He wants the warmth that her body allows, wants the memories to go away.

She turns to look at him, her smile catching when she notices his stoic expression.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she asks softly, putting a hand on his cheek. And the dam breaks.

"My mom died today," he rasps, barely moving his lips. She looks like she's been struck, and he wants to take it back.

She bites her lip, in that angry way she does when she's trying not to cry. But she doesn't say a word; just takes a shallow breath before enveloping him in a rib-crushing hug.

He stares straight ahead, no tears left in him.

She rubs up and down his back, her head cradled on his chest. She leads him to the couch, and they sit there for a long time, not saying anything. She wipes a thumb under his eyes to see if he's been crying, and he hasn't, so she continues to stroke his skin for comfort. After a while, she puts some food in a bowl and brings it over. She holds a piece of his favourite chocolate (though he'll eat anything) right under his nose and smiles, a soft, cheeky smile. A smirk tugs at his lips, and he takes it in his mouth.

He talks; he can't say for how long. He tells her everything - what his mom was like, how old he was when she died, how he misses her and wishes she was still here. She listens, and Jake finds she has a secret too. She can get anyone to spill their souls with the right turn of phrase.

She curses Glen like a sailor, and it makes him laugh. She tells him things he's heard a million times before, but coming from her mouth he finds he can believe them. She tells him things he never knew he needed to hear, and when he can't answer her (because sometimes it's too painful and there's nothing left to say), she says she loves him, and that it's okay. It helps to hear her say things he's always known.

"How do you do that?" he asks roughly when they're curled up on the couch, digging around in the bowl for the last bits of food while the movie plays. "It's like...you know exactly what I'm thinking before I think it."

"I think about you," she answers, leaning closer to him. "I think about you all the time." And she smiles weakly, as if it's her downfall.

* * *

_-x-_

He's barely in the door, and she's already unzipping his jeans.

"Good evening to you too," he smirks, their breaths mingling hotly.

"Shut up," she commands, attacking his belt.

They don't make it upstairs, and his pants are already down when he realizes that they're in her kitchen.

"Fuck," he moans, as she pushes him against the counter in front of the sink.

She grips his cock, moving her hand up and down in a steady rhythm. His stomach muscles flutter as she spits on the head, and he starts shaking when she finally takes him in her mouth. He holds her hair back with one hand as she sucks deeper, licking languidly along his shaft. He has to hold the counter with his other hand for support.

"God, I love your dick," she purrs, looking up at him.

He groans, "You're fucking amazing."

She giggles coquettishly, sucking him faster.

"How many times did I orgasm yesterday?" she asks suddenly, but his mind is too hazy to respond.

So she stops.

"Five!" he responds desperately. "Six, eight, I don't know-_ah_"

"Bet I could beat it," she challenges, stroking him while she continues to blow.

* * *

_Now_

_...  
_

"Breakfast?" she holds out the peanut-butter-banana sandwich on a plate to him after bouncing across the kitchen to retrieve it.

"Good morning," he smiles, sitting at the table. All bed-head and morning voice and ruffled pjs. He takes the plate a moment later, wondering if this is real.

"_Good morning_," she singsongs, twirling gracefully before leaning over to give him a quick peck.

And his heart aches.

"_Hey_," she says, and touches her fingers to his face. He leans into her, almost instinctually.

Tethered to her like a lifeline.

And that's it for him. She's all he'll ever need.  
She's learned to touch, as he's learned to talk, and it's home.

"I feel like pie," she smiles, running her fingers through his hair.

He is the soldier and she is the war.  
And when everything turns to dust, that will remain.

* * *

**Please let me know what you thought, lovely reader :) Review? **


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